


Another day on the job

by bridgesexualmutantspawn



Series: Roommates [2]
Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, Asexual Erik, Charles is adorable, Erik is an Engineer, Foulmouthed Charles, Hitman Charles, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Other, Poor Charles, Responsible Erik, Roommates, Smoking, domestic Erik
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3609378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bridgesexualmutantspawn/pseuds/bridgesexualmutantspawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Charles, it's just another day at work as a... security guard. That's what he told Erik he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who read and left kudos on Roommate Wanted :)

Charles sighs as he pulls on his padded vest and then chooses a deep grey, shapeless shirt to wear over the top. The sleek fabric slides effortlessly over his shoulders, fingers buttoning and tucking automatically while his mind wanders. At his left hip, he straps a holster to the top of his tailored trousers, then works on extracting his decorated Colt pistol from its hidden compartment in his wardrobe. After checking and re-loading the magazine, he holsters it and shrugs on his form-hugging jacket, carefully checking in his full-length mirror that both the vest and the gun are entirely concealed. He deliberately leaves his cell phone on the desk and exits the room.

As he passes the kitchen, he ducks in quickly to grab some protein bars (the label says chocolate flavour, but they just taste like sweetened mush) and fill his inside coat pocket with them. He hears a low whistle from behind him and plasters a shy smile across his face while he turns.

“Nice suit.” Erik says admiringly as his eyes give him a once-over. For a moment, Charles thinks he sees him pause at his left hip, but no, he must be imagining it. “That your lunch?” Erik asks, indicating the now empty box of protein bars laying on the countertop.

Charles grins and pokes out his tongue. “Yup! They taste like shit but… they keep you going.”

Erik looks… unimpressed, but just shrugs and tells him to have fun at work, before heading back to unpack some more.

Charles’ eyes tighten at the corners at the thought of having fun doing what he does for a living and he turns to leave.

***

At about 10pm, Erik collapses onto his freshly made bed, exhausted from a day of travel and unpacking. It hadn’t helped that half of his unpacking time had been spent trying to find alternative places for all of Charles’ things that were stored (if stored is the correct word) all over the floor of his new room. To be fair, his new roommate had helped him out until he’d had to get ready for work, and it seemed as though he had genuinely resolved to tidy the whole place up now that Erik would be living here too.

His memory drifts back to the man, as he’d stood stiffly and distant in his expensive suit while filling his pockets with his ‘lunch’.  The gun had caught his attention at once, hidden well under the thick jacket. He guesses he shouldn’t be surprised that security guards would carry guns up here in the big city, but _that_ gun was not just any gun. He’d _felt_ the beautiful and intricate hand-carved decorations in a variety of precious metals (he was almost certain he’d felt a gold alloy) adorning the barrel and the handle, and he desperately wants to see, to _touch_ this incredible weapon. But at the same time, its presence on a security guard’s hip was mysterious. No security firm could afford a gun like that. He is still pondering Charles and his gun when he drifts off to sleep some time later.

***

Charles has a target and a rough location. As per usual, he can’t dampen down the excitement that starts to boil in the pit of his stomach, and can’t slow his now rapid pulse. He licks his lips in anticipation. When he reaches the location estimate, his driver pulls over and Charles closes his eyes, breathing deeply. He raises two fingers to his temple and frantically breaks down the barriers holding his mind at bay. In moments, he is free and he stretches out his telepathic fingers across the local area, revelling ecstatically at the pure _sensation_ of all the minds, all the people, shining like stars mapped into constellations across his mind. He knows that he is breathing too fast, and that he is smiling madly in his deranged delight, but he lets himself have this – this moment of pure joy. His job, his work, is dirty. But _this_ – this is beautiful, and Charles knows that he is at the mercy of his employer because he lives, he _breathes_ for this.

He reluctantly slows his breathing down when he begins to get light-headed from the excess oxygen and gathers himself, wiping the slight dampness from his cheeks. Time for work. He steps from the car like a predator, and begins the chase on foot, mind sweeping away ahead of him, searching, searching, _hunting_.

***

Erik wakes for work before Charles returns. He has an early start on the first day to go over formalities and training. He rummages through the pantry, looking for something vaguely edible but finding only processed junk like the bars Charles brought with him and… he blinks… rather a lot of hard liquor bottles in varying states of fullness. The practically empty pantry seems to call to him to be used, to be filled with something nutritious and serve a purpose instead of sitting here empty and pointless. He sighs, and makes a mental note to visit the supermarket on the way home. He just hopes his new workplace has a cafeteria.

***

Charles has the target in his sights from where he waits in ambush in the damp alleyway. He can feel the guilt, the _murder_ from the scum’s mind, and he knows that this is the one. It’s time.

He raises his fingers to his temple and reluctantly reels his mind back in, locking it away behind his barriers. It’s for his own sanity, though he hates it and knows he doesn’t deserve this luxury. He doesn’t deserve to remain oblivious to the pain he causes, but it’s an order because he’s “no use to anyone drowned in spirits on the bathroom floor of some dingy, back-alley pub.”

He draws his gun, breathing slowly to keep his hand steady while he lines up the shot. He’s doing the right thing, removing one more monster and making the streets that bit safer. That’s what he tells himself as he squeezes the trigger. But he still drops to his knees clutching his stomach as he sees the figure fall, brains splattered across the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It all got very dark and serious very quickly... but don't worry, there's more fluffy dorkiness to come!


	2. Intruder Alert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik has a trying first day at work, and Charles wakes up to an intruder in his apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos that let me know you guys are enjoying these guys as much as I am :)

“So if someone walked into the room you were currently working in, what would you do?” The sickeningly sweet voice of the HR woman drills into his brain.

“Ignore them.” Erik grunts.

She frowns at him disapprovingly, light patches of pink appearing on her cheeks to match her entire outfit. “Okay, well what if they said that they were looking for you?”

“I’d tell them to wait until I was finished what I was working on.” He says flatly.

She sighs and shuffles some papers on her desk. “Look, Mister Lehnsherr. As an employee of Stark Industries, it is very important that you are able to work well and get along with other people so that important information gets passed along to the necessary parties and nothing is lost in miscommunication.”

The corporate jargon was starting to do his head in already. He’s only been in here a few minutes. “I’m an engineer. I need to focus to make sure I don’t make mistakes. If I need to pass any _important information_ along, I’ll do it when I’m done with whatever I was working on.”

The woman puffs herself up indignantly, looking remarkably similar to a giant marshmellow in her pink, fluffy sweater. “Other workers have their own tasks to do and won’t just be able to wait around until you’re good and ready for them!”

“Then they can write me a note or send me an email.” Erik says shortly. “Are we almost done here?”

She smiles at him sweetly while her contradictory eyes glare daggers at him. “Oh, we’re only just beginning.”

***

Charles is woken prematurely from his sleep by the muffled banging and rustling that accompanies the presence of _someone in his apartment_. He’s being robbed? Instinct carries him out the door and down the corridor in moments, with a knife in his hand. The intruder is in his kitchen, rustling through the pantry. They had better not be helping themselves to his whiskeys!

In complete silence, he rounds the corner, bodily grabs the intruder and shoves them up against the kitchen countertop with the knife pressed into their throat. The intruder looks back at him shock and drops the plastic bags he was holding, but otherwise doesn’t move. There is an odd look on the other man’s face and Charles’ brain clicks slowly through its sleepy state in an attempt to match a meaning to the expression. After a tense moment, it hits him. _Recognition._ And then everything else hits him at once. This man recognises him because they met just yesterday, because this man in his house is Erik and they spent all of yesterday afternoon clearing a room for him and moving his stuff in. And this man was in his house because he _lived here now_.

“Shit!” he exclaims in horror, and jumps back about a metre, dropping his knife onto the tiled floor with a clang that echoes in the silent kitchen. “I’m sorry! You scared the shit out of me! I thought you were a robber!” He babbles wildly at the still-shocked Erik.

Erik blinks slowly and gestures at the plastic bags he’s dropped on the floor. “I was just putting away some groceries… not stealing anything, I swear.” He raises his hands in mock surrender and gives Charles a faint smile.

Charles looks blankly at the bags, one of which is full of _green, leafy stuff_ and pulls a face. “Right, sorry, sorry…” He rubs his eyes blearily.

“You really are a lot stronger than you look.” His roommate says, giving his a strange look. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, or like, surprise you or something.” He jokes mildly.

“Urrrgh…” Charles groans in embarrassment, then pauses sharply. “Hang on… I forgot to give you a key yesterday. How’d you get in?” He sees Erik visibly stiffen. They both stared at each other for a tense moment, then Charles’ face splits into a sly grin. “You picked the lock didn’t you?”

Erik looks away quickly and… was he blushing? There was definitely colour creeping into those gaunt cheeks. “Uh, well…” he raises a hand to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly. “It was a _really_ long day… and I had all these bags… and I _did_ knock, but…”

Charles chuckles. “Well then, you _break in_ to my house, what do you expect? Geez!”

Erik’s eyes widen. “But! I brought food and stuff! Peace offerings!” He gestures playfully around him.

“You call that green stuff food?” Charles scoffs.

Eyebrows rise in surprise opposite him. “You don’t eat vegetables?” Erik now stands up straight, to his full height – at least a foot taller than Charles – and says “But how are you gonna grow big and strong if you don’t eat your veges?”

Charles narrows his eyes in mock irritation. “By beating up handsome men who _break into my house.”_

“That hardly seems fair, letting the ugly ones go.” Erik smirks.

Charles blushes furiously. “I meant… I meant tall. The tall men.” He stammers.

Erik snorts. “Sure. You’re so fun when you’re sleepy.”

“I’m not!” He protests. “I’m not that bad!” But Erik turns to him with _the look_ and he sighs, defeated.  “Yeah, okay… I guess I am.”

“You are.” Erik confirms with amusement. “I’m making spaghetti bolognaise for dinner. You want some?”

Charles looks dubious. “Is there any of that green stuff in it?”

“The lettuce? Nah that’s for my lunches. Mostly just meat and spaghetti in bolognaise.” He replies.

That sounds all right. “Okay then, sure. You want any help?”

Considering Charles’ reaction to the lettuce, Erik figures it’s probably better that he doesn’t know exactly how many vegetables were about to be disguised in the sauce. “Na that’s fine. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

***

“OH MY GOD, THIS IS AMAZING ERIK.” Charles’ eyes are huge and round and he looks like he’s about to cry. Erik is a little scared.

“Um… thanks. It’s a pretty easy recipe.” If Charles was overwhelmed by this, he was frightened to think how he’d react to Erik cooking some of his family recipes.

“NO BUT LIKE. THIS IS AMAZING.” Charles was looking at him with awe. “HOW ARE YOU A CULINARY GOD ON TOP OF EVERYTHING ELSE?”

He raises his eyebrows. This seems to be a pretty constant expression in his roommate’s presence and he was going to get lines on his forehead from all of this. “Everything else?”

This seems to break Charles out of his awe-induced trance somehow and he flushes bright red. “God dammit!” He curses and looks away. “You know what? I’m just gonna like… eat and not talk for a while.”

Erik snorts in amusement. “You do that.”

The silence lasts for all of about 90 seconds before Charles mutters, “This really is good, you know. You should totally teach me some time.”

Erik just smiles at that and says, “Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe how utterly ridiculous Charles is, he practically writes himself.


	3. Kitchens are Dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only Tuesday and Charles almost manages to kill both himself and Erik (again).

When Charles’ phone alarm goes off, Erik doesn’t miss the confusing whirl of emotions that flash across his roommate’s previously cheerful face in a split second. “Work?” he asks.

“Yeah…” Charles sighs, but Erik can’t quite tell if it’s from resignation or… something else?

“I’ll leave the leftover spaghetti in the fridge. You can have some when you get back, if you want.” Erik offers, trying to lift the mood.

Charles smiles at him, but it’s a little tight around the edges. “Thanks.” Is all he says as he gets up to get ready. And when he heads out a few minutes later, Erik can’t help but reach out with his senses and… ah yes, it’s there again. The beautiful gun. He brushes the ornamentation delicately in his mind’s eye before it (along with Charles) moves out of range and he sighs at the emptiness left behind.

***

“Erik, before you head off home, could I have a word in my office?” His manager stands in the doorway as he packs his things away into his satchel bag. He nods once, and stands to follow the man down the hallway. He takes a seat opposite the man’s desk and waits.

His boss seems to contemplate him for a moment then says, “You’re really quite brilliant at your job, Erik. We hadn’t expected to see results so quickly, and you’ve only been here two days.”

Erik looks confused. “I thought that’s why I was hired, sir?”

“Well, yes.” The man affirms. “Everyone here is quite exceptional, and you were recommended by Stark himself but… well, many of his ‘recommendations’ so far have turned out to be old friends, people he owed favours, if you get what I mean. We didn’t really expect, well… a genius.”

Erik is nonplussed. “I can slow the work down if it’s a problem?”

“No, no! It’s not a problem. The work is fine, it’s great! It’s just…” The man looks markedly uncomfortable.

“What is it? Have I made an error somewhere? I’m sure I double-checked everything but it’s always possible that I let something slip…” Erik casts his memory back over some of the innumerable calculations he’s completed and submitted today, hoping to catch something that stood out as odd.

“No, no. There’s no problem with your work.” He waves a hand as if to brush off Erik’s concerns. “It’s just, the HR department gave you, well, a frankly terrible review yesterday…”

 _Oh_. Erik groans and rubs his temple. The man sitting across from him has the decency to look sympathetic. “I want you to know that your job isn’t at risk or anything, but because of that review, coupled with the complaint from today, you’re going to have to participate in regular mentoring sessions to work on your ah…” he glances down at the sheet of paper in front of him “…interpersonal skills.”

Erik frowns. “What complaint from today?”

“You, uh, apparently left an intern standing in your office for 40 minutes until you’d finished testing the latest control circuit.” He really is trying to look sympathetic.

“But that was important! I was halfway through a hundred-series test run…” Erik trails off. “Was he really waiting there for 40 minutes?”

The man nods grimly. “HR has requested you attend half hour sessions first thing Wednesdays and Fridays, starting tomorrow.”

“With that HR lady?” Erik looks miserable. “I don’t suppose I can just… not?”

“With Poppy? Yes. And no, I’m afraid these are definitely compulsory.”

“…fine.” Erik sighs dejectedly.

“You’ll be re-reviewed in five weeks and a decision will be made regarding further sessions then. For now that’s all. You can go.”

Erik nods and gets up to leave, but pauses in the doorway and asks, as an afterthought, “Exactly how bad was that review?”

The man at the desk smiles slightly. “Well, I think Poppy invented a new scale just for you so…”

Erik grimaces. “So pretty bad, then.”

His boss nods good-naturedly. “Yep, Erik. It’s safe to say that review was pretty damn bad. But don’t worry, it means you can only improve from here.”

Erik snorts. _We’ll see about that_. “Right. Thanks. See you tomorrow.” Is all he says aloud as he takes his leave.

***

Charles has fucked up. Badly. There’s black smoke fucking _everywhere,_ and he’s opened up all the windows and doors to try and get it out, but he’s certain that a neighbour or passerby is gonna call the fire department at any moment and it will be _the most_ embarrassing thing ever because he was only trying to heat a goddamned _pie_. And why the fuck have the smoke alarms not gone off? And of course Erik fucking-perfect Lehnsherr decides to show up at the exact moment that Charles decides to have a tantrum and just throw shit at the goddamned microwave because _it_ caused all this mess to begin with. Just fucking perfect.

***

Erik had seen the smoke from the street as soon as he’d rounded the corner and had sprinted frantically up to the apartment, casting about desperately with all his senses, searching for Charles, for superheated metal, for signs of fire, for the cause of the smoke. He is relieved beyond belief to find no sign of dangerous temperatures, and to feel the body-warm metal of Charles’ belt buckle darting about in the kitchen.  

“Charles?” he calls down the hall, through the smoky air, but gets no response. He hurries down the hall and rounds the corner into the kitchen just in time to see his clearly upset roommate pick up the kettle and hurl it at the microwave with a yell of frustration. He winces as he feels the metal of the kettle dent under the force of colliding with the microwave, but he puts it out of his mind. He can fix that later.

“Fucking piece of _shit!_ ” Charles yells, and goes to grab the toaster, apparently still unaware of Erik’s presence behind him. Erik leaps into action and grabs Charles roughly from behind. He feels Charles go rigid in surprise beneath his grasp, all of his muscles bunching together tightly - pure, raw strength - and Erik remembers too late his vow from the previous evening not to surprise this man. His grip-strength may as well be nothing, because Charles is out of his grasp in an instant, and he feels the metal case of the toaster bee-lining for his skull. Erik is now acting on pure adrenaline and survival instinct, and so he doesn’t think twice about reaching out and _stopping_ that toaster in its path. He doesn’t think twice about using the metal of Charles’ belt buckle, and the rivets in his jeans to push him forcibly back into the pantry door with a thud. He actually isn’t even aware that all of the metal in the room is now floating several feet in the air around them both.

***

Erik’s breath is coming short and sharp, his eyes are wide and his hands are thrown out in front of him in some kind of defensive gesture. And if Charles wasn’t _fucking terrified for his life right now_ , he’d probably say that the scene in front of him was one of the most beautiful he’d ever seen. But if he survives the _apocalyptic_ _disaster_ he’s just created in the kitchen, he can think about this later. Because it is a disaster. He’s just tried to _kill_ his roommate with a toaster. And it appears that said roommate isn’t best pleased with that. Not pleased at all, judging by the sheer quantity of warped metal objects (which possibly used to be kitchen utensils) that were floating threateningly in the air around their heads. Yeah, Charles is pretty sure he's going to die here. 

Both of them stand and stare at each other for a long while, their combined breathing loud and rapid, fearful and wary. Realisations are slowly dawning on them both but neither of them is quite ready to examine those realisations too closely, transfixed in a moment by shock and the chemicals blasting through their veins.

Their trance-like state is interrupted by the piercing blare of a smoke detector somewhere down the hall and both of them jump in surprise. “Oh, that’s just fucking perfect.” Charles mutters weakly, and he can’t decide whether he wants to laugh or cry, so he just does both, hysterical hiccups shaking from his body as tears build and overflow, spilling down his face to drop onto his shirt and the floor.

***

The shrill bleeping of the smoke alarm shocks Erik back to reality and he suddenly becomes aware of all the metal he’s subconsciosuly called to surround him defensively. He sees the raw fear and intimidation in Charles’ eyes as he bravely faces down the swarm of knives and twisted, sharpened pieces of metal all pointed straight at him. And he sees him start to shake, and if that’s supposed to be laughter he’s not doing a very good job of it because there is wetness on his face and something inside Erik clenches tightly because he _doesn’t want to see this_. His head swims with guilt and horror and _sorrysorrysorrysorry…_

With one fluid movement, he pushes all the metal aside gently and places it calmly (infinitely more calm than he feels) down on the benchtops. Then, without thinking about it, he closes the gap between them and gently pulls Charles to his chest in an embrace.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry…” he mutters quietly into Charles’ hair as he rubs his hand soothingly in circles on Charles’ back . And Charles’ hiccups are full-blown sobs now, so Erik just pulls him in closer, tighter. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m sorry…” he whispers over and over.

And through a muffled sob, he hears Charles mumble thickly, “m’sorry too…” and hug him back.

Erik reaches out with a thought to finally shut up the smoke alarm and the room goes quiet again save for the soft, wet noises coming from the small creature in his arms.

***

Later, when Charles has calmed down enough to _not_ cry all over the warm, protective chest of Erik, he’s utterly horrified at his break down. Erik had carried him into the living room and sat with him huddled on the terrible sofa, and he had just lain there pathetically, completely overwhelmed by everything while Erik – gently, caring Erik – had just held him until he’d calmed down. And he wanted to be mad at himself, but he was really struggling to feel anything but content because he was _still_ lying with his face pressed into Erik’s now-sodden shirt, and those arms were _still_ wrapped around him protectively and he just can’t bring himself to leave that warm, safe place. But Charles feels like he had to say something, any _thing_ to break the silence.

“Telekinesis?” he asks quietly.

Erik stiffens slightly, and for a moment, Charles thinks he isn’t going to answer, but then he says, “Metellokinesis.”

Charles hums thoughtfully. “It’s very impressive.” He states, matter-of-fact.

Erik says nothing, but Charles feels a brush of his guilt against his mind and frowns. That shouldn’t be able to get past his shields. “It was my fault.” Charles says, looking up at Erik and hoping his eyes aren’t too disgustingly puffy and red (even though he knows they are). “You were just defending yourself.”

Erik looks conflicted, but then he runs a hand through Charles’ hair and seems to relax a bit. “You know, that’s the second time you’ve tried to kill me in as many days.” He points out mildly. Charles bites his lip and looks away. “Anyone would think you were trying to get rid of me.”

Charles stiffens. “No! Not at all!” He blurts out, panicked. “I don’t… I really like you being here! Don’t… don’t…” He stops when he feels Erik shaking silently beneath him and looks up to see his eyes crinkled with silent laughter. “Oh, don’t _tease_ me!” Charles whines, blushing furiously and pushes himself up off Erik’s chest to punch him gently in the arm.

“Ah! Assault!” Erik laughs, jokingly.

Charles smirks, “Serves you right, taking advantage of a poor, emotional-“

“Trained security guard?” Erik interrupts pointedly.

Charles pouts and puts his hands on his hips. “Security guards have feelings too!”

“Hey, don’t give me a hard time! I almost ended up with a toaster for a head.” Erik flails his arms about for emphasis.

Charles grimaces. “Yeah, sorry about that…” he glances at the giant wet patch on the front of Erik’s shirt, “and about that. And about any other time I try to kill you in the near future.” He gives Erik his best dejected puppy look.

Erik puts on a deadly serious expressions. “I forgive you for the toaster. And I’ll make sure not to sneak up on you ever again. But I absolutely cannot forgive you…” Charles stiffens, “… for what you’ve done to my shirt.” He carries it off with dead seriousness, and Charles waits, waits for the punchline. “No. I’m afraid there needs to be some form of extreme punishment for this crime against horrible, budget work shirts.” Erik pretends to contemplate for a moment while Charles gapes at him. “Yes, I’ve got it.” And the look Erik turns on Charles is… predatory. He is grinning with far too many teeth and Charles shudders. “Tickle torture.” Erik says simply.

Charles pales. “WHAT?!”

“You heard me.” Erik says, still deadly serious.

“No!” Charles backs up rapidly away from Erik to the far end of the couch, eyes wide.

Erik smiles at him sadly. “There is no escape.” He says simply. And then he pounces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY. I DIDN'T MEAN TO MAKE HIM CRY D:


	4. Inner Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles has a rough night at work.

“The stupid part,” Charles confesses dejectedly, “is that I was only trying to make the pie to return the favour to you for cooking for me last night.”

Erik blinks in surprise. “You didn’t have to do that. I’m used to cooking for myself. Making a little extra is no effort at all.”

“Yes, but I wanted to _try_.” He looks down miserably at the pepperoni pizza they had ordered and shoves another slice into his mouth. Comfort food.

Erik takes pity on him. “Well talk me through what you did, and we’ll see where you went wrong.”

“I _know_ where I went wrong.” He mutters darkly. “Getting out of bed before 6pm .” He sighs. “So I bought the pie, and it was frozen and just needed to be heated up. The instructions said put it in the oven for like half an hour though, and I thought that was too long, so I just put it in the microwave.”

Erik looks at him blankly. “With the foil on and everything, right?”

Charles frowns and Erik watches the gears turning slowly in his brain. _One… Two… Three…_ “But there’s no _actual_ metal in that stuff!”

Erik raises an eyebrow, then lifts his hand and pulls the roll of foil out of the drawer it is hiding in with his power. He unravels a small amount, tears it off and guides it over to where they are sitting while scrunching it into a shape that vaguely resembles a star. He notices suddenly that Charles is gaping at him so he drops the foil star onto the table and looks away. “Sorry, I’m showing off.”

“No! No, Erik that’s incredible!” He sounds sincere and Erik relaxes slightly.

“I probably shouldn’t do that though.” He points out, and waves a hand to indicate the foil star. “Someone might see.”

“It’s only me here though.” Charles points out.

“It doesn’t bother you?” Erik asks him quietly, almost timidly.

“Of course not! Why would it?” He looks genuinely confused.

“Well, if anyone finds out, I could put you in danger.” Erik says, feeling as though he is pointing out the most obvious thing in the world.  _And because I'm a freak of nature,_ he thinks silently to himself.

Charles grins. “As we’ve both seen, I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. And besides, you looked… happy. Just now. You enjoy it so I think you should.”

Erik considers, not for the first time, a world where he could use his powers freely, where he could not only listen to the hum of all the metal around him, but reach out and touch it all, change its qualities, really exercise his ability.

“See, you’re smiling just thinking about it.” Charles says gently and picks up the star, holding it out to Erik. Erik slowly lifts it from his open palm, turning it over and over while smoothing down the bumps and straightening out the edges until it is flawless and elegant. He breathes out, pleased with his work, and lowers the star back into Charles’ palm.

“It’s beautiful, Erik.” Charles murmurs, turning the star over and over. “You can’t even tell this used to be foil.”

Erik’s smile fades slightly. “I can’t get complacent, though. I don’t want to slip up. I don’t want to have to run.” _Again_. He leaves it unsaid.

Charles catches the thought though and frowns. He needs to examine his shields. Like Erik, he also has no room for slip ups.

“Well how about just every now and then?” He looks up encouragingly at Erik.

He looks away but there is consideration in his face. “We’ll see.” Is all he says.

***

Charles is sitting miserably on the sidewalk, watching the thick, dark liquid ooze incrementally along the gutter when his driver arrives to get him. When Charles doesn’t move, the man in the car gets out and helps him up into the car gently.

“He had a _family_ , Hank.” He mutters miserably to the seat beside him. “Two boys… He was so proud of them…”

“Charles, don’t do this to yourself.” The young driver is frowning at the road, but his voice is sympathetic.

“I can’t keep doing this.” Charles says quietly.

“I know.” Hank tells him. And he does. But they both know that they will both keep doing this. They have no choice.

They drive in silence until Hank pulls up outside Charles’ apartment.

“I need a drink.” Charles says at once. “You coming up?”

Hank nods once. If he doesn’t, he knows Charles will drink himself into a coma. Again. “Just the one though. I’ll grab your stuff for dry-cleaning too.”

Charles smiles tightly at him. “Thanks, Hank.”

***

Erik’s alarm wakes him for work and he gets himself up and ready, then frowns as he hears voices from the kitchen. He heads in that direction and sees Charles and a young man chatting animatedly at the dining table. The man is wearing a suit similar to the one Charles wears for work, so probably a colleague. Charles has changed out of his, into jeans and a tee shirt. He pauses in the doorway.

“… can’t help but be a little envious of her though!” Charles was saying.

“A little?” the weedy-looking suited man asks and Charles breathes out heavily.

“I just… I just wish-” Charles begins, but then Hank catches sight of Erik and freezes sharply. Charles spins around. “Oh! Good- uh… morning? Yes. Good morning! Erik, this is Hank, a good friend and colleague of mine. Hank, this is my new roommate, Erik.”

Hank stands and walks over to him to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you.” He says.

“Likewise.” Erik offers. _It is way too early for this,_ he thinks.

The man, Hank, is watching him carefully. “I hope we didn’t wake you. I’d forgotten Charles had a new roommate.”

Erik waves away his concern. “No, I’m up for work. Early start.”

“Oh, well I’m just on my way out so I guess I’ll see you round.” He nods at Erik, then pauses and glances back at Charles with a flicker of something like concern crossing his face.

Erik looks back over at Charles and sees the bottle of whiskey sitting beside him. Then he notices the way his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are slightly glazed over. On a hunch, he says “You look tired, Charles. Long night?”

Charles frowns for a moment, as if trying to remember, then the weight of his fatigue seems to hit him all at once and he says, “Yeah...” and yawns widely.

“You get to bed, I’ll see your friend out.” Erik coaxes, and Charles just nods and gets unsteadily to his feet, rubbing his eyes blearily before heading out in the direction of his room.

Erik sees the tension visibly drain from the young man beside him. “Does he often drink after work?” he asks Hank casually.

Hank considers him for a moment then replies, “Only after rough nights.”

Erik walks him to the door. As he’s leaving, Hank turns back to Erik and says, “Look after him, okay?”

Erik feels like there is a deeper meaning behind his words but he files it away to consider later and simply nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another serious chapter, I'm afraid... more fluffiness to come, I hope!


	5. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik struggles to get things right at work. Charles finally gets used to having a flatmate.

“Here’s a problem I want you to solve, Mister Lehnsherr.” The large human marshmellow tells him sweetly but in no uncertain terms.

He glances down at the sheet of paper he’s been handed. “You want me to design a solar powered light that changes colour depending on the light intensity?” He asks flatly.

She nods sincerely.

“That won’t take long. It’s just controller logic.” He was fishing for a catch. “Do I have any component restrictions?”

“No, no. Just.” She waves her poofy arms. “Start designing.”

Erik shrugs and starts drawing out a block diagram of the top-level design. He’s just started in on the layout of the controller’s finite state machine when there’s a knock on the door of the office. He ignores it and continues to add state transition logic to his diagram. When the knock comes again, he glances up to see the powder puff looking at him pointedly and frowns. “You want me to…?” He sighs. “Come in.” He calls towards the door.

A timid looking intern pushes open the door. “Ah, M-Mister Lehnsherr, s-sir. Do you uh, have a minute?”

He glances down at his watch. “I’m busy for another twenty minutes. You can come back then.”

“R-right! O-of course!” He stammers and practically runs back out of the office.

Erik turns back to his design. After a minute or so, Pink Pom Pom clears her throat. He ignores her so she does it again, louder. Still, he doesn’t look up from his work. He’s almost finished the design.

“Mister Lehnsherr.” She says tersely.

“Just a minute, please.” He replies in a tone that he hopes sounds politer than he feels. She was the one who wanted this design and here she was, interrupting him.

She bangs her plump fist on the table and he looks up in alarm. “Tell me what you’ve done wrong.” She says sharply.

He frowns. “Nothing? I haven’t checked anything yet but…” He glances down at his design in confusion.

“Not with your design. With your behaviour. That is why you’re here, Mister Lehnsherr.” Her tone is short and clipped.

He throws his hands up in the air in annoyance. “You asked me for a design and I’m trying to do it for you!”

“You just ignored me, not once, but _thrice._ And you sent that poor distressed-looking intern off to wait for twenty minutes!” She was sounding thoroughly annoyed and her face was starting to turn pink to match the rest of her.

“ _Him?_ He was probably just going to ask me how to use the printer or something! Anyone could tell him that! And I am actually busy, in a compulsory meeting with _you_!” His words were getting increasingly heated as he was reminded how insufferable this woman was.

“Tell me, Mister Lehnsherr,” she practically sneers at him, “why on earth would he come to you to ask for _printer advice_ when he could ask practically _anyone else_? He was quite clearly terrified of you!”

Erik pauses in his rage to consider this. Surely the kid wasn’t stupid enough to barge into an office and ask for _him_ for a printer problem. “It can’t have been _that_ important.” He says flatly.

“He shouldn’t have to weigh up the benefits getting information against the risks of getting on the wrong side of you!” She squawks in frustration. “If people are afraid to seek out the information they need… that’s how mistakes are made! And as an engineering company, that means people’s _lives_ could be in danger!” Her eyes were flashing at him dangerously.

Erik wants to reach out and smother the woman with her cardigan for her self-righteous attitude, but parts of her rant are ringing true in his head. Some of what she is saying makes sense, and it makes Erik downright _furious_ to admit that, even to himself. He stands, shaking slightly from anger and adrenaline. “We’re done for today.” Is all he says, before turning and leaving the office, making sure to slam the door behind him.

***

It’s about midday when Erik looks up from his calculations and realises that there is a dark-haired girl sitting at one of the tables in his lab, going over a thick document with a yellow highlighter pen.

“Hello?” he says to the girl, unsure of the reason for her presence here. He’d only been here two and a half days, but apparently news of his workplace attitude had spread quickly and he was mostly left to work in peace, just how he wanted.

“Oh, hi.” She says, glancing up at him. “I was just sent to ask you for…” she glances at another sheet of paper, “your efficiency calculations for the latest energy storage design.”

Erik flicks through his sheets of calculations until he finds the latest efficiency one. “53%, under optimal conditions.” He tells her.

“Thanks.” She flashes him a small smile, and picks up her documents to leave.

On a whim, Erik asks her just as she gets to the door, “Um, how long were you waiting here?” He gestures at the table she was just sitting at.

She turns, looking slightly surprised. “Um, about fifteen minutes?”

He winces, visibly. “Er, sorry about that. I didn’t even hear you come in…” he trails off.

She pauses for a moment, then says, “You told me to wait a moment, when I came in.”

Erik frowns. “…I did?”

She nods once. “But it doesn’t really matter – I had other work to do.” Then she turns and leaves.

Erik runs a hand through his hair. He really didn’t remember her coming in _at all_.

***

It’s 5:30pm, and Erik has just started browning the meat for a curry when he hears a loud thump from the corridor behind him and then a long string of expletives. He smiles despite himself. Charles is up. A moment later, said person hobbles into the kitchen, looking rather grumpy and like he’s just gotten out of bed. Which is fair, Erik supposes, since he _has_ just gotten out of bed.

“You started without me!” Charles whines and pouts, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy.

“The dinner?” Erik asks him confused. He couldn’t recall discussing a dinner roster or anything.

“Yeah! I wanted you to show me how!” He folds his arms petulantly.

Erik just looks amused. “Well, I’ve only just started so you can still watch if you’d like.”

“Yay!” Charles’ eyes light up and he practically bounces over to the stove beside Erik.

Erik smiles at him, but can’t help comparing this carefree, childish Charles to the dejected, drowning-my-sorrows Charles he’d walked in on this morning. He really didn’t understand how this man jumped between emotional extremes so easily.

“I’m making latkes.” He tells Charles. “It’s a kind of potato pancake.”

Charles turns the word around in his head. “Sounds foreign.” He states.

“Its Jewish.” Erik replies, and Charles catches the flash of nostalgia that he can feel Erik is trying to conceal. “Don’t worry, it’s not spicy or anything.”

Charles just grins at him. “I like potatoes. And pancakes. Potato pancakes sounds excellent.”

“Good, you can start grating potatoes.” Comes the reply.


	6. Just the One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik share a cosy evening together

“Do you drink?” The question comes from the other end of the couch, just as Erik is putting his knife and fork down after finishing his meal.

Erik turns to regard Charles carefully. “On occasion.” He says.

“Would you like one?” Charles offers. His expression seems innocent, but a niggle of worry and doubt crawls into Erik’s mind as he recalls Hank’s words to him that morning.

“What’s the occasion?” Erik asks mildly.

Charles sighs as though it’s abundantly obvious. “Well you survived a four days around me without losing a limb!” he huffs out and waves his arms to emphasise his point.

Erik considers for a moment. “This is true…”

“Scotch?” Charles presses him eagerly.

Erik frowns at him in mild concern. “Don’t you have to work in a couple of hours?”

His roommate looks childishly gleeful. “Nope! They don’t need me tonight so I get the night off!” He looks like he could explode with excitement.

Erik rubs his eyes as he recalls the day he’s had, the _days_ he’s had, wasting his time with that stupid HR lady. “Sure, I’d love a scotch.”

Charles’ grin widens as he beams at Erik with adoration and really, how could Erik say no to that face? “I’ll get you a glass!” Charles calls as he practically sprints from the room.

“Just the one! Some of us have to work in the morning…” he calls after Charles’ retreating back.

“Yeah yeah… you sound just like Hank....” he hears Charles mumble and sighs. What is he getting himself into?

Charles pokes his head around the corner a moment later. “I have something I think you’ll like.”

Erik stares at him, waiting for a moment, but something catches in his senses at the edge of his awareness. Charles is holding something _metal_. The man pulls out a box and sets it on the table in front of Erik along with a sizeable glass of whiskey each.

“Chess. Do you play?” He asks, still eager but this time with an edge of seriousness.

Erik breathes out sharply as a flash of memories hit him. Playing chess in class with his school friends, bringing home the chess trophy to show his mother. He shakes his head gently to clear it. Charles is giving him an odd look.

“Sorry, um, yes I do play but… not for a long time…”

***

The two of them are sat at opposite ends of the sofa moving their respective pieces from the side of the board as they are far too lazy to get up and use the dining table and actually face each other. Charles watches Erik move his Rook in to put Charles’ king in check, and smiles to himself both because of the ease with which Erik is moving the pieces and because he has just moved right into a trap. Just a couple more moves… he reaches to pour himself a second scotch and feels Erik’s gaze on him.

“Another?” He offers him, pointedly ignoring the _concern-doubt-worry_ that pulses from Erik’s mind. _Oh, please,_ he thinks to himself in mild irritation, _can’t a man have a drink in his own home?_

To his surprise, however, Erik accepts a second drink. Charles moves his Bishop into place. “Checkmate.” He tells him.

Erik frowns sharply and leans forward to examine the board. Charles catches a whiff of his scent as he does this and quickly takes a sip of his drink to suppress the sudden feeling of warmth in his stomach. “So it is.” Erik says after a moment. “I didn’t even see that one coming.” He sounds mildly upset.

Charles shuffles closer. “Most people don’t see that one coming, it was designed that way. The Bishop and Knight form a specific checkmate pattern,” he points out the relevant squares on the board, “so I lure you into a position you think is safe with my Rooks and Queen, then have my Knight and Bishop 3-5 moves away from the trap – just far enough out that the position isn’t easily predicted unless you’ve studied the patterns for this technique.”

Erik looks up at him impressed. “I take it you play quite a bit then.”

Charles shrugs and looks away, colour rising in his cheeks. “I dabble. Want to play again?”

***

Erik wakes in a sitting position with a crick in his neck and lower back. He groans and attempts to straighten out, but when he moves something shifts beside him. He freezes and opens his eyes to realise that he’s on the sofa in the living room, with the chessboard in front of him (half way through a game) and Charles curled up against his side, sound asleep. His head is slightly fuzzy and he vaguely remembers drinking slightly more of Charles’ scotch than he had intended, playing game after game of chess, determined to win at least one. He pauses briefly to wonder at Charles being asleep when it was technically his ‘daytime’ now, but then lets the thought go and shuffles himself into a slightly more comfortable position, careful not to disturb the bundle of warmth beside him. He falls asleep again almost immediately.

***

Charles fights the urge to stiffen and give himself away when he feels Erik stir to wakefulness beside him. The brilliant man had played game after game with him, hoping to get the upper hand at some point, but Charles was considerably more experienced in both chess and drinking so the attempt had been futile.

Still, Charles admired his perseverance. He’d gotten up for a glass of water and had returned to find his tall, handsome chess partner slumped awkwardly into the corner of the sofa, fast asleep.

He’d known that he shouldn’t. That it was a bad idea. But… he could find so many reasons, so many excuses. In the end, he told himself he would only indulge for a moment – a shared moment of sleepiness. He definitely didn’t expect to still be here when Erik woke. Now his moment was about to be shattered. He distantly wondered if Erik was going to react badly, but he didn’t really feel worried which was odd.

He felt Erik’s mind spark to wakefulness and was careful not to frown as he blurrily recalled that he wasn’t meant to be able to feel these things and he still hadn’t fixed the hole in his shields properly. He felt Erik stiffen and confusion fill his brightly lit mind, and he waited. Then Erik shifted slightly and Charles felt his mind drift back into the greyness of sleep. He blinked his eyes open in surprise. Erik had… done nothing? He shouldn’t really read anything into it but… he couldn’t help the small spark of warmth that ignited in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorrysorrysorry... it's been so long since I updated this, I knowwww~ I'm sorry.  
> Thank you so much everyone who's still reading and putting up with my inconsistency! And thank you all for your kudos and lovely comments. You guys are awesome!


	7. Teambuilding Bullshit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik's HR lady has an "exciting" challenge for the employees of Stark Industries...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was in two minds about whether or not I should actually publish this chapter. It was the first chapter I wrote, and was what inspired this entire story so I feel like it's important, but at the same time the story has evolved so I think this isn't 100% necessary.  
> In the end I decided to put it up. Sorry if it's a bit out of character - it was written first. If you don't like it, you can just pretend it never happened =P There's nothing overly plot related here.   
> Your feedback is welcome regardless though, as always!

Erik stalks into the lunchroom with moderate frustration. Sure, he realises that these teambuilding exercises were important for improving productivity and workplace happiness and all that other corporate bullshit, but he didn’t see why _he_ had to attend them. Erik always worked at full capacity regardless of which blithering idiot had the misfortune of working with him that day, and he was always going to be cold and dismissive (and downright rude, if he was perfectly honest) if that unfortunate soul decided to take it upon themselves to interrupt his work with tedious questions. That was who he was, it all came as part of the package, and HR had known that when they hired him. But he was brilliant and really had a knack for the machines and the circuitry, and Tony Stark _himself_ had recommended him. So what could they do?

He grudgingly tolerated most of these menial exercises, but when they directed the workforce to _line up_ in front of the whiteboard and placed a whiteboard marker on the table in front of them, he knew this was going to be just plain _uncomfortable._

“It’s sexuality awareness week so we’re going to do an exercise centred around this theme.” The HR zombie informed them. “Obviously if this makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to participate”. Erik rolls his eyes at that. Sure, that wasn’t going to draw _way_ more attention than simply lying. “We’re going to go up one by one and join the group whose sexuality matches our own. If your orientation isn’t up on the board when it comes to your turn, you can write it yourself. Everyone got that?”

Erik got some small satisfaction from seeing a number of his colleagues shifting uncomfortably at the thought of this task. He wasn’t the only one then. Regardless of the reasoning, he couldn’t for the life of him see how they thought that this was acceptable, getting them all to out themselves in front of people they had to _work with_. He decides to push back a bit.

“Isn’t there a policy to keep our work and social lives separate?” he asks the woman flatly. He hears a few murmurs of agreement from the workers around him.

She laughs shrilly and the sound is like ice in his ears. “Of course we don’t expect you to _act out_ your sexualities in the office, but sharing identities is a good way to get to know each other better and find like-minded individuals, don’t you think?”

“I think that we can find people who are like-minded in ways _relevant to the job_ by sharing qualities that are actually useful in the workplace.” He challenges darkly.

“Oh?” She smirks at him. “And you’ve been exceedingly successful at that so far, have you?”

He narrows his eyes at her. “My personal experiences are irrelevant-” he begins.

“Ohho, but they are relevant!” she practically sings. “For we are all a team, and every member is important, no?” She smiles sweetly.

He grits his teeth and backs down. He’s learnt from past experience that it really isn’t worth pissing off poisonous bitches in positions of power, and as long as this woman was organising these stupid sessions… He would tolerate them, for the job he always wanted. He could always lie anyway.

So they began their procession to the whiteboard. It was almost like being sorted into houses at Hogwarts, except unevenly and based solely on who you felt like sharing a bed with at night. It’s obscene, he thinks grimly.

The first person up is a guy from accounting, he recalls vaguely, and he is slightly surprised to see that the first label go up on the board is ‘homo’. The vampiric HR woman looks like she’s just swallowed ten sugar cubes. Off to a good start then for her agenda.  The accountant was a good choice to begin, Erik thinks, he stands confidently by his hand-drawn label, casual and seemingly unconcerned about what anyone was thinking.

The next person – a lady Erik couldn’t place – moves up to the board a small distance away from the accountant and writes ‘straight’. The next few people in the line go up and join her. The procession stops at a youngish guy who Erik recognises from the engineering department. He hesitates briefly, glancing between the two groups, and then shuffles over to join the accounts man. Accounts man smiles at him encouragingly. Erik breathes out and contemplates which group he should pretend to join. He was one of the last few in the line so he had a little time to think.

Almost half of the remaining workers had split off into one of the two groups written on the board before the girl from reception picks up the pen. She walks to the right of the ‘het’ group and writes ‘bi’. She looks wary, Erik thinks, as if daring someone to comment. A woman from IT then picks up the pen and goes over to her, asking her a muttered question he couldn’t hear. The receptionist smiles faintly and nods, and the IT woman changes ‘bi’ to ‘bi/pan’ and stands with the girl. There are a few looks shared between people and Erik could hear some whispered explanations from the group in front of him. Clearly some people were learning things today.

The remaining workers file into one of the first two groups until there are just the new engineering interns, Erik, and a couple of other stragglers behind him. The interns are looking uncomfortable and muttering amongst themselves, as though trying to find a way to just group together and all sort themselves at once. A couple of them are tense and shaking their heads slightly. Erik notices the girl who had sat in his office waiting for him yesterday, standing stiffly with her eyes wide, and he frowns. Three of the seven interns break off into the ‘het’ group, two into the ‘homo’ group.  The two remaining interns hesitate, then the boy glances back at the girl and goes to pick up the pen. Next to ‘bi/pan’ he writes ‘?’. Erik raises his eyebrow slightly.

He looks back down at the girl who is rigid with genuine, undisguised fear, then he looks up at the board, which is full. He sighs internally. If she was going to lie, she would have done it by now. It was clear she didn’t want to join any of the groups up there though.  Without taking any more time to think about it, Erik walks past her and picks up the pen. The quiet words of encouragement for the girl stop immediately and the room goes silent as people watch Erik with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. He pauses in front of the board for a moment, then walks up to the het group, past them, and rubs out their label. Someone begins to make a noise of protest behind him, but he quickly takes a step to the left and rewrites it. Then he walks over to the ‘bi/pan’ label and does the same, rewriting it closer to the ‘het’ group, and repeating this for the ‘?’ label with the other intern. The corresponding groups shift over wordlessly, openly watching Erik. The end of the board now has some space and he writes ‘Ace spectrum’ messily before capping the pen and tossing it back onto the table with a bang.

He keeps his face carefully blank and refuses to look at anyone, waiting. He could hear the movement of people shifting to see what he had written and a couple of whispers in the quiet room but he couldn’t make out any words. He waits, and finally hears footsteps hesitantly approaching him. Their eyes meet as he looks up and her footsteps falter. He steps slightly to the side, a small gesture to allow her room and she moves in to stand beside him. He looks away again and he can feel her studying him but she doesn’t say anything.

“Well isn’t this all so _fascinating_.” The HR woman’s overly sweet voice breaks the silence sharply. “Now, it’s time for some _group challenges_!” she calls with excessive enthusiasm and Erik sighs. It was going to be another long morning.


	8. Escaping Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles' reality becomes a bit much for him.

Charles had _tried_ to think. He’d ended up falling asleep on Erik on the sofa after all and had even slept through Erik getting up and leaving for work. Now his sleep cycle was completely out of sync again and he was wide awake in the middle of the day.

He’d decided to make the most of this opportunity to do some thinking, examine his shields and figure out what was going on with Erik’s thoughts consistently getting through. And he’d _tried_. But it had been a long time since he’d designed those shields and they had long since become a reflex that he didn’t have to actively think about. Since he’d constructed them, he’d suffered too much, hidden too many unspeakable things behind their walls to risk delving back there now. Even just poking through the surface stirred up hurt and anger and despair so strong he’d had to sit against the wall and just focus on breathing until it passed. He had a serious problem and he couldn’t do anything about it. Erik was breaching his defences regularly. As long as it was only Erik, it could probably, _maybe_ , be okay, he told himself. But what if it wasn’t just Erik?

He’d forced himself to try again, and tears began to fall unbidden, in time with his ragged breathing. He couldn’t even look at his own mind – it had become such a hostile, terrible place. He’d never felt so alone. It wasn’t natural for him to be so cut off. He had grown used to the constant whirling sea of minds all around him as he grew up. He’d revelled in their colours and lights and warmth. He missed them so deeply, it was like he was starving. It was a basic need that he was denying himself – out of _necessity_.

He dejectedly crawls to the kitchen and opens a bottle of gin.

***

When Erik returns to his workstation after his lunch break, he’s not really surprised to see the dark-haired girl sitting at one of the other tables in the lab. She looks up at him shyly as he enters then looks quickly back down at whatever it is she’s working on.

He signs internally. If she was looking for companionship, she was seriously picking the wrong person. She would come to realise that eventually. He put her out of his mind and got back to work.

***

Charles isn’t sure how long he has been lying on the rug in the living room staring at the spidery cracks in his ceiling, but judging from the slight ache where the angle of his hips are digging into the floor through the rug, it has probably been a while. He tries to focus on just one of the cracks but they keep swaying and blending into one another and creating new cracks where there previously weren’t any. It’s a slightly nauseating but nonetheless fascinating dance.

It takes a while for him to realise that someone is knocking loudly at the front door. He hopes they’ll go away but they just get more insistent.  He supposes he should open the door, but his legs don’t really want to work for him just now. He manages to flip over to his stomach and half drag himself down the corridor. He pulls himself up against the door frame and eventually fumbles the lock open.

“Jesus, Bub, I been out here for a good fifteen minutes now! You flush your phone down the toilet again or something?”

He sloshes the words around in his head, trying to squeeze some kind of sense out of them but he gets nothing. He looks up at the man and recognition flickers in his mind.

“Logan?” he asks, relatively clearly he thinks.

The man stiffens and then sniffs suspiciously. “Jesus, Xavier. You smell like you jumped into a swimming pool full of Bombay Sapphire. Are you with me?” He waves a hand annoyingly in front of Charles’ face.

“Fuggoff Logan.” Charles slurs angrily and swats him away.

“Holy shit, kid. You’re plastered and we just got a call for a double target to get in twenty minutes.”

“M’fine.” Charles grumbles. “Lemme get m’gun.” He turns to start stumbling down the hall to his bedroom, but then stops suddenly.

Logan breathes out noisily in exasperation. “What is it now?”

“Cat says no.” Charles mutters, oddly coherent.

“Eh? What you on about?” Logan pokes his head around the corner to see a lean grey cat sitting determinedly outside Charles’ bedroom door, as if daring him to try and get past. “Oh for Pete’s sake… it’s just your cat, man. Go get ready! We ain’t got much time, Bub.”

But Charles shakes his head resolutely. “Cat says no.” he repeats.

The tall, gruff man rolls his eyes impatiently. “And what possible reason would _Cat_ have to say no, Xavier?”

Charles seems to ponder this question seriously, and raises a hand to his temple.

Logan looks concerned. “Whoa, c’mon Bub. Not here. It’s just your cat. Think this through, they’ll see you.”

He seems to hear because he lowers his hand again, but he’s still frowning at Hercules. “Cat says… Cat says…” He sways heavily, then suddenly turns a very sickly green colour.

“Whoa, Cat says outside!” Logan grabs him by the back of the shirt and practically hurls him out the front door into the bushes where he proceeds to puke loudly. Logan really hopes the neighbours aren’t home from work yet because they really don’t need any extra attention tonight. Double missions really need to be executed flawlessly.

At the sound of more messy retching, Logan just sighs and tells himself that at least the kid was getting most of the alcohol out of his system in one go.

***

Erik decides to take a detour home that evening. It’s the anniversary of his mother’s birthday and it’s become his tradition to celebrate it with her, for her. It’s not yet dark enough for the stars to come out so he waits by the waterfront, watching small boats coming into the harbour, full of either fish, or tourists. It’s deeply calming and he can feel his metal awareness stretching out as he relaxes. He can feel the small boats pushed around by their small motors. He can feel every beam and strut in the bridges and buildings around him, and he can feel the constant buzzing of the underground train lines far below him, below the city.

***

“Hank, we got a problem.” Logan mutters into his earpiece. “The kid’s… incapacitated. I don’t see any way we can pull this thing off with him in this state.”

A heavy pause on the other end, then Hank can be heard cursing under his breath. “I’ll do it. Get me his gun.”

“Kid, it’s a noble gesture, but even if you could track the guy – which you can’t – you can’t aim for shit. If you take more than one shot to kill the guy, there’s gonna be an investigation. This guy never misses.”

“We can cover it. Say there was someone watching from a window and we had to move to a bad spot. Forced to take a pot shot. Something like that.” Hank mutters desperately.

“That’s the other thing, though. Without Xavier, we can’t guarantee no one _is_ watching. You get seen, and we’re done for.” Logan pulls a fat cigar out of his pocket and lights it up, taking a heavy drag.

“Shit. What are we going to do, then? Call in Sabre?” There’s a beeping noise from Hank’s end. “Shit, hold on. It’s HQ.” He sounds panicked, but then there’s a beep as Logan gets put on hold.

He takes another heavy drag of his cigar, but it does nothing to calm his now racing pulse. They were _fucked._ He looks down at the frail shape of the kid he’s tossed into the bathtub to sleep off his drunken coma. He’s trembling violently and looks like he’s about to die. Logan grumbles under his breath and goes to get him a blanket. He picks an old one, covered in cat hair, off the back of the sofa and tosses it over the guy. Then he heads into the kitchen and opens up the pantry.

He pauses in surprise as he finds the pantry full of _actual food_. Not just a few poxes of packaged junk like usual. He quickly stubs out his cigar into his palm and takes a deep breath through his nose. And… there. He catches the scent of another man. A new roommate? Well if he was gonna feed this kid up, Logan was all for the guy being here.

Looking past the food, he reaches up and pulls down the dozen or so bottles of heavy liquor. One by one he opens them up and pours them down the kitchen sink. The noxious fumes mixing makes his head swim in an unpleasant way, but he continues through the lot, pausing only to stash a particularly nice bottle of whiskey in his trenchcoat pocket. It was a pointless exercise, he knew - the kid had more money than sense. But it might slow him down a bit. Especially if this new guy was any sort of good influence.

A beep in his ear, and Hank was back on the line. “Call the shots, Hank.” He growls.

“Talk about luck.” The relief is so thick in Hank’s voice, Logan can picture him slumped in his seat in dazed disbelief. “Target took an unexpected route through a highly populated area so we’re off for tonight. Off for both of them.”

Logan releases a breath he’d been holding since he got the call for a double. “Well, thank fuck for that.” There’s a noise at the front door and Logan freezes. “Hold on, got someone here. Kid’s got a new roommate?”

“Oh, yeah. Um… Erik, I think. Met him the other day. Seems like a good enough sort.” Hank sounded convinced but Logan was always the more cautious of the two. He stepped behind the kitchen door, out of immediate sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting darker and scarier... hopefully lighter moments to come.  
> Please keep sending your thoughts and opinions! I love to read them :3


	9. An Altercation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Logan meet (or: Metalbender meets metal man)

Erik stands, leaning against the low railing on the pier for over an hour after sunset just looking down at the stars reflected in the rippling water. A cool breeze sweeps inland from the water, gradually numbing his face and fingers, but he ignores the sensation. Finally, he looks up into the sky, gazing at the vast quantities of bright pinpricks dotted above him. He recalls vividly, sitting on the front porch with his mother as she pointed out and named the constellations for him. He remembers them now, and recites their names in his head as he finds them amongst the disorganised jumble.

He wants to believe that she is up there, a fairly new addition to the star ranks. He wants to believe that she is watching him now, smiling as he remembers her so fondly. Sometimes he pretends that he does believe this.

But in his heart, he knows he is alone. He drops a smooth stone into the water and it lands with a satisfying _plop_.

“Happy Birthday.” He says aloud to the stone. Then he turns and heads back towards the still-crowded streets that would take him home.

***

Charles startles awake feeling like his head and body have been shoved full of rather large shards of broken glass. He clenches his eyes and jaw tightly shut and curls shakily into a tight ball.

Surely, he is going to die.

***

Erik walks numbly up his front steps, mind far away as he fumbles with the lock. He finally gets the thing open and begins down the corridor when something lights up _bright_ at the edge of his awareness. He stops dead in his tracks, all senses on full alert. When he realises what it is he is sensing, he doesn’t believe it.

***

The small gust of air as the front door is opened carries the scent of the man down the hall to where Logan is standing. Definitely the roommate. A moment later, he hears the man stop dead still in the hallway, and Logan tenses. Had something given him away?

He steps out from behind the door, hands open in front of him in a gesture of _hey-I’m-not-here-to-fuck-with-you-hear-me-out._

The roommate, Erik, is looking right at the kitchen when he steps out. Like he’d known _exactly_ where he was. It’s unnerving. His face is drawn and pale, like he’s looking at a ghost.

“Settle down, I’m not here to hurt anyone.” Logan growls tensely. The guy’s expression is seriously worrying.

The roommate blinks a couple of times, then says shakily, “Where’s Charles?”

A sudden crash and string of slurred obscenities makes them both jump about a foot in the air. A split-second later, an extremely ragged-looking Charles Xavier topples out of the bathroom and practically face-plants into the carpet down the corridor behind Logan.

Both men turn to stare, as the small creature groans and pushes himself up onto all fours. He then looks up at both of them with slightly unfocused eyes as if trying to make sense of them.

Logan hears Erik’s breathing pick up, and glances his way to see him standing even more stiffly, hands clenched into fists and teeth gritted. He can also feel something else, some kind of vibration… but he’s not entirely sure where or what it is.

“Erik.” Charles speaks clearly and sharply and it surprises both of them.

Erik looks from Charles to Logan and back again warily.

Charles closes his eyes in a pained expression. “Erik, this is Logan. He’s a colleague.” He breathes out harshly and moves to sit cross-legged, bringing both hands up to rub his temples roughly. “Logan, Erik. Roommate. Don’t… don’t kill each other.” He mutters weakly.

“Hey bub, come on. You need to rest.” Logan takes a step towards Charles but sees Erik take a step towards him warningly. The vibrating feeling intensifies to a dull hum, and Logan narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“What. Is. Going. On.” Erik grinds out from between clenched teeth. Logan’s spent a lot of time around dangerous men, so he can tell a dangerous man when he sees one. This guy looks dangerous.

“Look, I came to get the kid for…” he glances at Charles briefly, “… _work._ I arrived to find him completely wasted, so I chucked him in the bathtub to sleep it off. I’m just here to make sure he doesn’t _die_ or something.” He looks between the two of them. “But I’m definitely not here to get in the way if you two have a _thing_ or something.”

Erik’s expression turns dark and the vibrations get stronger again. They feel like they’re coming from _inside_ Logan’s body. What the fuck could this guy do?

“ _Erik!_ ” Charles says warningly.

Erik turns on Charles angrily. “Who _is_ this guy?” he spits.

“I told you! He’s a colleague!” Charles yells back defiantly, then winces and covers his ears.

“But he’s a… he a…” Erik stutters.

“Mutant?” Logan finishes his sentence, then narrows his eyes. “Like you, you mean?”   

Erik whirls around, teeth bared, and _something_ slams Logan back up against the wall and holds him there, compressing, crushing his chest slowly.

“Erik, no!” Charles looks up in despair and scrambles frantically to his feet unsteadily.

Erik ignores him and turns on Logan. “You think you can come here and fuck with me?” he barks out an unnatural and inhuman laugh. His eyes are dark and manic. “ _You?_ With your _metal skeleton?_ ” he spits venomously.

A fist collides with the side of Erik’s face and Logan falls from the wall heavily with a grunt as his chest reopens and he can breathe again. He looks up to see Charles standing over Erik, who is now sprawled on the corridor floor, rubbing his face in shock.

“He’s on our fucking side, Erik!” Charles yells at him, swaying slightly. Then he groans and sinks to his knees, cradling his head in his hands.

Logan watches Erik warily for a moment, then steps forward, picks Charles up and carries him over to the sofa without another glance.

***

Erik lies on the floor in the dimly lit corridor in shock. Charles was working with a mutant. He was _knowingly_ working with a mutant. He _trusts_ the mutant.

He rubs his aching jaw absently. Charles also _lives_ with a mutant, he reasons weakly. He was clearly far too trusting for his own good. But he has to admit, it’s _nice._ To be not just tolerated, but actually appreciated. Charles _likes_ to spend time with him.

His head is a confusing whirl of thoughts and emotions. He gets up stiffly and goes out to sit on the front steps. Reaching into his inside coat pocket, he pulls out a ragged old box of cigarettes and a lighter. Erik hasn’t smoked for months, but all he can think about right now is how much he needs this. He should have thrown the box away long ago, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. He lights one up and breathes in deeply, letting the chemicals seep their way into his lungs and bloodstream.

***

Logan puts a blanket over Charles’ shivering form and puts out a glass of water on the table beside him. That was the best he could do for him for now. He hears the click of the front door and picks up the tell-tale scent of cigarette smoke. After a moment’s hesitation, he heads out towards to front step.

***

Erik feels the giant metal skeleton finish taking care of Charles and head towards where he was sitting. He should be wary but… Charles trusts the guy, he reasons dully.

Logan sits on the other end of the step and pulls out a cigar. “Got a light?” He grunts.

Erik can feel the metal of Logan’s own lighter inside his trench coat, but sees the gesture of peace for what it is and offers up his own lighter in the palm of his hand. Logan doesn’t take it.

Erik takes another drag on his cigarette, then sighs and gives in to this silent request. He closes his hand around his own lighter and reaches out with his power to pull Logan’s from its hidden pocket and light his cigar with it.

Logan snorts softly, amused, but says nothing as he smokes, letting the silence hang.

Erik breaks the silence. “Your bones – they’re man made.” He states.

A pause, then “Yep.” Logan grunts back at him.

Erik thinks for a moment. “But…” he begins.

“No scars?” Logan guesses. He raises his hand up in front of Erik.

Erik frowns as he suddenly notices the extra “bones” in there. He reaches out and checks the other hand too. “What…?” he begins, then Logan closes his hand slowly and the bones slide forward, piercing the skin between his knuckles until they are fully extended to form what is clearly meant to be claws. After a moment, he brings them back in, and Erik watches with carefully disguised fascination as the broken skin comes to life and closes up the gap left by the claws until the affected area is completely flawless once again.

Some sort of regeneration then? He wonders again at the metal and how it got there, but he doesn’t push the issue. Instead, he asks “What did Charles mean, when he said you’re on _our_ side? What sides are these? Who is _us_?”

Logan glances as him out of the corner of his eye, then stubs his cigar out into his palm again.

Erik frowns. “Doesn’t that…?”

“Hurt?” Logan asks, then grins. “Like a bitch. But it’s badass as heck, dontcha think?”

Erik snorts and Logan sighs. “But I really think the Xavier kid should be the one to answer your question. You two seem… close. I’m surprised he hasn’t told you already.”

Erik’s eyes narrow slightly. “I guess he’ll tell me when he’s ready.”

Logan hums in agreement. “I guess he’d better.”


End file.
